The Prince and the Slave
by With You Friends
Summary: It's 18th century Europe, in London, and the Prince Regent, Edward, turns eighteen. His slave, the same aged Jacob, will cater to his every whim. But will the prince ask for something a little less formal? Fantasy and history combine as many other lovers threaten their fate-fused influence, with war also threatening everything else. Full of 18th century slash.
1. The First Chapter

**Chapter One-Party**

Banners and festoons traversed the ornate walls of the Royal Palace in London, to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of the king's only child. The grand square was littered with admirers, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person in the carriage, which would soon be rounding the corner. Everybody was itching to see Prince Edward, the next in line to the throne of Britain, and by far the most attractive man on the island, according to the London Times, at least. After a few minutes of agonising anticipation, horses' hooves could be heard coming from the archway-gate, then the sound of wooden wheels speeding over the finely scrubbed cobbles. In a moment, the carriage was within their eye line and then it was gone, vanishing behind the walls of the palace's gardens. Still, the entire crowd was screaming with excitement, overjoyed that they saw Prince Edward himself. He was even more lovely than they'd heard, in his elegant attire and paper-white periwig.  
>But to the crowd, he was solely a prince, with no true existence or tale. He was made to please the populace, and when he wasn't in their presence, he didn't exist. That really wasn't the case; he is a human like us all, and thus has his own intricate story, and so does his servant, Jacob, who now stands at the main entrance of the palace, awaiting his master.<br>Edward alighted the carriage and breathed in the air of London, as if he'd not inhaled its perfume-purged winds in an age. He sauntered over to Jacob, who was dressed in formal clothing out of respect; as was the reason for the trumpets' bellowing over the crowd's. "Good day, your highness, a very happy birthday. I pray your sojourn to the Chatsworth House was pleasurable," Said Jacob, entering the palace with the aristocrat. The fine, crimson carpet beneath their feet and the brilliant portraits on the corridor's walls were no real change to Edward's visit to the northern manor. "How I've missed you, Jacob," He replied quietly, seeming to ignore the slave's comments. Jacob tried to stifle his smile, "Thank you, m'lord. I have felt an ache at your absence, also."  
>Edward winked at his companion, causing Jacob's cheeks to blush, clashing with his tanned tone. However, there was no secret reason to Edward's wink; he and Jacob had engaged in no acts of lechery at all, for such an occasion was the darkest sin!<br>"Will you be attending the revelry tonight?" Enquired Edward, feeling a rose blossom in his heart for the thought of Jacob's presence at the party of his eighteenth June.  
>"I shall, but not as a reveler , as a servant, as my job's name implies," Jacob's wit didn't hurt Edward; the fact that he would be there banished any thought of his bosom's flower to wither.<p>

"Very good," Edward said coolly, and bid his farewell to the slave; their ways must part now: Edward will head to his father, and Jacob, to the servants' quarters. Yet before they drifted away, the prince did his usual light tap on Jacob's behind, looking around for prying eyes firstly; the latter found it adorable, and thanked him for it. Edward grinned rakishly, and adjusted the contents of his crotch with perfect subterfuge.

:::::::

The party was in full swing; all the rich aristocrats of London were there, wishing Prince Edward many more years to come. The orchestra which was hired played a lively Mozart Piano Concerto, the third movement of his seventeenth, and this paved the way to a gallant dance between the people. Edward weaved himself through the crowd, preferring to dance with the men, but maintaining a flow which made his actions undetectable to the average observer.  
>Jacob watched from the wall, a silver platter held in his left hand as an offer of the rich wines imported from the fields of Spain. He was bored out of his mind; the hall was crammed with pretentious piles of posh. People never thanked him for the beverages which he offered, nor did they desire to cease in scowling at his evidently foreign roots. As his eyes stayed in their usual tired expression, he saw a women watching him from the far wall. She had lengthy hair, the colour of the sun, and a beautiful face. When he blinked as a way of studying her more thoroughly, she was gone. He blamed it on how sleepy he was, or maybe it was somebody who could move very quickly. Either way, the woman was pushed from his mind when he was ordered to get more wine.<br>Eventually, the party was over. Edward had a fantastic time, and received many arse strokes from mischievous men. Yes, the fun was now over, and he was to head to bed, for a peaceful slumber after a day of doing no work. Jacob, a few minutes before the party was terminated, was asked to clean a corridor after most of the portraits were made crooked by some very drunk drones. Straightening the paintings of pretty monarchs, he was alarmed to hear footsteps behind him. Before he could turn, two hands covered his eyes. "Guess who."  
>Jacob recognised the voice instantly, and he was lifted from his monotonous chore. "Hello, Edward. Sorry, I mean, your highness," His sight was given back to him, and he cursed himself at his lack of tact. He thanked God that no one else was on the corridor to whip him for addressing on first name basis to a higher.<br>"Fear not; call me Edward when we're alone. I prefer it," His tone was still melodic, even though he was slightly intoxicated.  
>"I shall, but are you sure you won't mind?"<br>"Very sure," He smiled.  
>"How was your party? I saw you were having many spits of laughter with some men at the billiard table. I would have came over with the wine, but-" Jacob was cut short by Edward's pale finger touching his lips. The tip of his finger was cold, and his lips were warm, a perfect contrast.<br>"Night," Edward said, walking away, his gait one of masculinity. But Jacob was completely enamoured; his lips tingled, and his throat was endowed with a large lump. He felt happy.


	2. The Second Chapter

**Chapter Two-Lechery**

Jacob paced to the servants' quarters once the prince had left for bed. He didn't know why his lips were tingling or why his crotch was enlarged, so he tried to cover it up with the itchy, rough quilt in his uncomfortable bed. He'd never masturbated before; some of the other male servants did, but to him it was a sin. Tonight, however, he did. He envisaged Prince Edward in his royal chamber, alone, unbuttoning his pantaloons and letting them drop, revealing the muscled, pale legs he held, dusted with little blonde hairs. Edward's bulge pressed against his underwear, and by the looks of things (In Jacob's lecherous imagination) it was quite the spectacle! To the slave's astonishment, he'd already reached climax, not even requiring to see the prince's throbbing member and balls. Jacob cleaned up the mess with the quilt, the sharpness of the texture stung his chest slightly, and when he rubbed the fabric over him, the scent which it released stank of wet dog and fish.

Slave Jacob woke up to the sound of a shove from the 'higher servant', who was still treated like cow fodder from the royals, but was given authority to act like a second king when he was watching over his peers. In contrast to Jacob's rude (and normal) awakening, Prince Edward fluttered his eyes open pleasantly to the tingle of a silver bell which was pealed by his butler, Lord Ambrose. Light poured through the grand French doors that led out onto Edward's own private balcony overlooking the beautiful palace gardens. The prince's bed was decorated by the Germans, made in Munich, and the intricate woodwork and patterning on the silk duvet was only fit for a king…Which would make sense, as he would turn king very soon. His father, aged forty-four had ruled Britain for twenty-two years. Sadly, he was dying of a disease brought over by the slaves, cancer. So, Edward, being his heir, would soon be the subject of a coronation. He was petrified. He was more inclined to commanding troops on the battlefield, not getting involved in economical policies. Furthermore, he was…a homosexual. That was, like I promised, indeed frowned upon. And certainly not the preference of a dashing, noble king.

"Good morning, Ambrose. What's the daily news today, then?" Edward formally greeted and asked. Ambrose was a balding man, and what remained was cloudy hair. He had oceanic blue eyes with rose red lips. Ambrose hailed from Kent, and in consequence had the familiar 'posh' English accent we all are inclined to.

"And to you, sir," He handed the prince the London newspaper. "There has been a terrible battle following Napoleon's campaign in Austria."

Edward looked up, his eyes furrowed with anticipation at was to come.

"It's just as we feared. Napoleon has crushed Austrian pride and is hastily advancing onto Austerlitz, whereas his second commanding troops are marching forth to Vienna," Ambrose's voice was fraught with worry and dangerous loss of hope.

Edward's face softened when he saw said man's expression, "That's terrible, but Ambrose…" He got out of his warm bed, in his cheeky night clothes. "Faith in fortune must not be lost."

The butler smiled demurely, not because of Edward's words, but because of the erection the prince carried. Edward smirked boyishly and rubbed his crotch, his hand grasping around the shaft through his linen bottoms. Those two had never had any sexual relationship; Ambrose had nurtured him since he was a baby, so he'd seen his cock. Therefore, Ambrose wasn't at all shocked at the prince's size, but bowed and left the room.

Now that Edward was alone, he crookedly grinned and dropped his pants instantaneously. He put his hands on the elegant table against the wall and bent over it. His hand snaked to his member and immediately started pumping away. Not to his surprise, he without delay thought of Jacob. He'd thought of the slave sexually for years, and this next imaginary tale was just one in the many he'd created. Jacob was strolling down a chilly corridor on the far side of the palace, in one of the pantries. He snuck into one of the side rooms and picked up the two pales of milk 'higher slave' had ordered for him to retrieve. But Jacob was a little peckish for orgasmic fun today, and decided to have a wank where he knew he wouldn't be seen. He shoved his hands into his baggy trousers marred by stains of mud and grease, and jacked off. Edward wanted to see Jake's arse, so mentally commanded him to turn around and show off his perky, soft cheeks and warm hole to the watching (or spying) prince. Edward came with five great shoots of royal sperm, all over the expensive emerald carpet brought over from China. The future king sucked in some air, wiped the head of his dick, and got dressed in some formal day attire. He picked out a three-cornered hat to go over his bulbous blue periwig that Ambrose had previously frosted with powder. He also chose a spotless red waistcoat and some matching breeches but in a darker colour. If I do say so myself, he looked absolutely handsome, and admirable. Any lady would want him to implant his seed into their bit of earth any day.

Jacob had been scrubbing the floors of the kitchens all day. He hadn't been assigned to the royal quarters today, sadly for him; he wanted to catch a glimpse of Prince Edward. The only people he'd seen today were the corpulent cook and her mangy cat, Felix, who gave you evils all the time. Jacob's hands were starting to sting now, due to the excessive inning and outing of his extremities into the freezing soapy water used to clean the stone surfaces. Fortunately, dinner would soon be upon him. The servants didn't eat with the royals at all in the palace; they ate on a splintered table made from the ruins of a ship sunk by the French. The name plate was still encrusted into it, 'The Alexandra'.

All of the slaves, most of them black and imported from Africa, sat around the 'table', waiting for their 'food'. I use the apostrophe there because you can't call either of them what you'd want to call them. And I'm proven right; the bowl of soup poured into their wooden bowls was nothing more than stale water flavoured by the socks the slaves wanting washed. So basically, they were cleaning their socks and then drinking the fluid which they were done so in, and you wonder why Artemis died last week.

They all shovelled the thick water into their mouths and dipped the mouldy bread into it, but were abruptly stopped by 'higher slave' tapping the table with his spoon. "Silence."

All looked at him, most of them dying for him to get it over with so they could finish their dinner. Jacob mentally sighed and turned with exasperation at the patriarchal lesser.

"Now, we have some good news that came in this morning from the palace," Even though they were attached to the mentioned building architecturally, the royals regarded the servants' quarters as a completely different structure. "The king wants us to clean the bedrooms tomorrow and the day after that. This is good news because we'll get the leftovers from royal food if we clean up perfectly." They cleaned the royal bedrooms very rarely; the aristocrats wanted no black slave touching their precious things. In stead, the butlers cleaned. But occasionally, they cleaned the rooms because the butlers were having a day off. The royals would relax leisurely in the gardens, playing polo, strolling around the pretty parks.

Jacob smiled secretively, pleased that he'd be getting some good food for a change.

"Now, Alex and Jones, you'll be cleaning the royal bathrooms. Marcus and Riley, you'll clean the king and queen's chambers. Alice and I will scrub the corridors, whilst Jacob, you will be cleaning Prince Edward's chambers alone; it's not very big, you see?" 'Higher servant' then waved his hand, indicating they could now resume eating.

Jacob could not. He was going to be in the prince's bedroom. This could be very productive…

**Okay, quite sexual, I shall admit lol. I did this because I wanted to give you guys a little bit of lust. Tell me what you think of this chapter in the reviews please; it makes me want to write even faster. I wrote this chapter instantly once I saw all of the lovely reviews hehe. **


	3. The Third Chapter

**Chapter Three-Edmund**

Cue being rich, posh and sexy now! Prince Edward strolled from his morning game of croquet which he had just easily destroyed all other competition in. As he walked away, his tight breeches defined every part of his bottom half, including his perfectly sculpted buttocks.

Edward wiped a smear of sweat from his forehead with his finger and narrowed his eyes to see who was approaching him on the path splitting the well preserved gardens in two. The person was no more than a silhouette thanks to the baking sun glaring onto the prince's stunning countenance.

Once the figure came into view, he saw it was the noble Lord Edmund from up north. Lord Edmund was Edward's age, give or take a few months. They were both cousins but that didn't prevent them both from secretly lusting after each other.

The northern boy beheld prominently sharp cheekbones and oceanic blue eyes with consistently pursed lips; he was brought up a snob and therefore looked down on anyone who wasn't an aristocrat. He once quipped, "When I rule Britain I'll make it a part of our constitution to have all peasants thrown into the sea unless they earn a living within four weeks of their maturity." Edward always chuckled whenever he recalled on said quotation.

The boys stood apart an arm's length, Edward panting softly at both the exhaustion of croquet and seeing his handsome cousin. "Good day, Edward."

The latter boy smiled devilishly, causing Edmund to grow erubescent, "Hello, Edmund. What brings you to London?"

The palace loomed over them, its shadow creeping ever so slowly over to them, calling the two to bask in its lukewarm cape. "Well, I've came with Mary. She wanted to come on a shopping spree."

Edward smirked and tapped the sharp boy on the elbow, indicating they should walk and talk. "How is Mary?" They caught eyes for a brief second.

"She's excellent. And you?"

"I'm brilliant likewise. Have you met mother and father?" They were coming close to the stone portico where visiting nobles and their mistresses sat under, gazing out at the far off forest and even further, the baroque architecture of London town.

The two relatives sauntered up the portico's steps, carrying on the conversation we've just peeked in on. They would then leisurely have a cup of tea and a few cakes under the porch's grand canopy and exchange flirtatious glances every now and again.

On the other side of the palace worked Jacob in Prince Edward's charitable chamber. The bed was larger than the servants' quarters! The young slave stood there, with the mop bucket in his hand, gazing up at the ceiling so meticulously plastered he thought he could get lost in the labyrinth of pictures and patterns. Soon enough, catching himself, Jacob snapped out of it and began scrubbing the marble floors. A

As his hand cleaned away, Jacob couldn't help but think of the dashing prince. How he would sleep in this room. How he would get ready in this room and also, how he would be naked in this room. The slave could feel his erection press against the groin of his baggy pants, and relieved it meekly by rubbing his hand across it.

Returning to the portico, now at twelve pm, Edward and Edmund are still conversing.

"Any news on Napoleon?" The latter boy questioned morosely, stirring his tea slowly.

"He's still threatening British shores, though it's Austria which he's advancing on." The prince regent bit his lower lip with minute fear. He didn't know if Britain's fleet and admiralty would be able to fend of French revolutionaries. Along with this, Prussia was most likely going to be dragged into the Napoleonic War, ensuring they'd go down with Austria as well. This left Britain with few allies.

"Yes, I heard about Austerlitz. Is Prince Johann II really dead?" Said prince was one of their lifetime friends.

Edward looked down, his eyes bleak and woeful, answering the question without words.

Edmund sighed with frustration, "I don't see why we don't press forth and take Paris whilst it stands momentarily undefended."

"Because Bonaparte would be expecting that," Edward uttered, like a hiss.

There was a brief pause, sounded only by aristocratic chatter from afar and the summertime whistle of the winds again lively trees.

The two royals drank their tea in silence, which was undetermined to be either awkward or satisfying.

Once Jacob had cleaned Prince Edward's room from top to bottom, he began his walk with a painful back to the servants' quarters. On his way there, however, he was interrupted from his lifeless reverie by two pairs of perfectly shoed feet. Jacob looked up quickly and saw it was none other than Prince Edward and his cousin, Lord Edmund, who came to stay once every year. "Oh, your majesty," Jacob said, intertwined with courtesy and shock. "Your chambers are cleaned." He bowed and prepared to leave.

"No, stay Jacob," Edward put a hand on the slave's hard shoulder to stop him from walking.

"I'm sorry?" Jacob inquired incredulously. Edmund was watching from behind his cousin with a venomous veil of a glare.

"If you managed to clean the entirety of my chambers, then you deserve a treat. Come," He beckoned with his hand to walk with both royals back to the elegant room.

The journey there was half joyous and half uncomfortable for Jacob thanks to Edmund's demonic face burning into his. Edward every so often turned to look at his two companions and smiled to both. Yet it seemed his grin was a lot brighter when he gazed at Jacob, and this caused Edmund's glower to be even more furious.

Finally the party got the Edward's room, and inside the bedroom's owner was not disappointed. Everything was gleaming, polished or placed where it should be. All of Edward's breeches, petticoats, socks, shoes, hunting boots, tennis attire, periwigs and blazers where assorted pristinely in his wardrobe. The family seal was hung up on the wall, and not on the floor where Edward's sometimes used it as a table. The seal, if you're wondering, consists of the colours red and black in a chequered pattern and in front of this silver primrose, which is the national flower of Britain.

The future kind smirked dangerously (because it could break hearts) and turned to Jacob, preparing to hug him but remembered both _his_ place and who was watching. So instead he lowered him arms and then extended one, as a gesture for Jacob to shake it. He accepted it, and from the perspective or angle of the two hands bopping up and down, Edmund's visage was smeared with jealousy. And this didn't bode well for said lord, "Edward!" He bellowed.

The two looked at him with shock, their hands still touching. "Yes?"

"Forget not who you're touching," He scowled at the slave. "He's had his hands down toilets and touching mangy dogs. I suggest you retract you hand immediately."

Edward laughed, but Jacob was hurt. "Edmund," Edward said warmly. "Jake is my friend, and my driver. I've known him since I was a child."

"Still," Edmund walked over to Jacob, their faces inches apart and their breath mingling. Jacob was slightly scared as Edmund scratched his eyes into his. "Slaves need to know their places, especially non-white slaves," He smirked derisively and demonically. It sounded as though he was saying it to Jacob.

The latter boy was close to tears, and did everything to hide it, including this; "Um, I must go your majesty." He bowed hastily to both and walked away at speed. Edward watched after him, his face pained and upset. Then he looked to Edmund angrily.

**What will Edward do to Edmund after his outburst? Review and tell me what you think. Thank you. **


	4. The Fourth Chapter

**Chapter Four-Threshold**

"I just granted him a few words so he'd know his place. I'm sorry, cousin, but people like that…" Edmund spat. "…deserve to be punished." The lord, seeing that Edward's expression was not at all brightened, tried adding some humour to the mood. "Up at Chatsworth, a servant spoke without permission. Oh, her just desserts were most administered; we used the dog she'd reared from a puppy as a piñata," Edmund's serpentine, slithering, sardonic chortle ensnared Prince Edward's room in a gloomy cloud.

Edward's face was smeared with disgust, "How…How could one do such a thing?"

Edmund tutted, took his cousin by the arm and sat him on the bed. They were now side by side, "We all now that God sees animals as lesser. He cares not whether a dog is killed. Oh, you should have seen the sweets which fell from its wounds, if you grasp me," Edmund, for a second time, laughed, causing Edward's perfect, pale skin to crawl away and hide. "But care not about that; your servant, he's nothing. Who cares if you've known him your whole life? You've known me your whole life, as well, and I'm of noble birth, so I should be held higher than him in your perspective," The Lord's shrill voice rose slightly. "I mean, what does he have that I do not?"

Edward loathed seeing his cousin unhappy; he'd always cared for him. Edmund was always slightly effeminate as a child, and preferred playing with tea sets on the grand patio at Chatsworth House, whereas Edward swayed more towards hunting with other youthful dukes and lords, or playing sports. Whenever Edward got back from his games, Edmund always acted as though he was Edward's wife, "Where've you been? I've made tea and the children were screaming for you!"

Edward's father, the king, watched on with troubled eyes, but expected his only son to outgrow it…Oh, how wrong he was…

Jacob, in the meantime, was pacing in his servants' quarters, going over every detail of Lord Edmund's flogging in his head. He saw the look on Edward's face, his sorrow and anger. Why didn't his master step in? Why?! Jacob put his hands to his hair and pulled at it firmly, silent tears leaving his eyes. From his hazy sight, he saw a sharp knife lying next to a slice of mouldy bread on the nearby table. No one was around, and Jacob could if he wanted to. He pondered over it, scanning over what would happen if he did. Would anyone care? Would it hurt?

Jacob slowly moved over to the knife and ran his finger softly over its razor sharp edge, and knew that this easily could end his life. He grasped his bulky, muddy fingers around the splintered wooden gripper and aimed it at his chest. Just as he was about to impale himself, a voice spoke to him. "Don't."

He gasped, dropping the knife, and turned around. The clanking of the knife's iron on the stone ground was the only sound around, save that of distant chatter and horse hooves. Jacob surveyed the room eagerly for the speaker, but found no one. It definitely wasn't someone he knew; it was a woman's voice, a calming, tranquil, angelic voice. "Who are you?" He whispered.

There was no response for a few moments, until, to Jacob's absolute astonishment, a blonde haired, snow skinned lady, of the age of around forty, emerged from the shadows of a cobweb conquered corner. "I am Threshold, your guardian angel."

Jacob squinted his eyes, and dug his hands firmly against them to see if he was imagining it, but when he removed them, she was still there, her sandy coloured hair swaying in a nonexistent breeze. She smiled graciously, and said: "I know that is very hard for you to comprehend. It's not every day that your guardian angel appears before your person," Her melodic chuckle filled the room with golden light, and Jacob's sorrow had vanished. He felt safe around Threshold.

"No, it's not. I never even knew I had one," He looked down at his shoes, battered and torn, and then returned his gaze, to find Threshold gone. "Hello?" Jacob spoke, urgency in his tone. "Threshold?" There was no sign anyone had ever been here. There was no one in the dusty corner, there was no halcyon haze of hope…His angel wasn't there. And though that could sound depressing, it was the most uplifting thing Jacob had ever experienced; now he knew he wasn't alone, even if Threshold was imagined.

**EXTREMELY SHORT CHAPTER, just so you know I've not given up on this. ^-^ This was written…Hmmm…I think I wrote this too quickly. Do you guys think it moves too fast?**

**Constructive criticism would be nice, though I'm not asking. **

**Love to all. **


	5. The Fifth Chapter

**Chapter Five-Hope**

"Adieu, dear cousin," Spoke Edward with a bright smile as Lord Edmund looked out from the small window of his carriage, ready to return to Chatsworth House.

Edmund tried to suppress sobs, but ultimately his wits couldn't master them. "Oh, our Edward. How I'll think of you when winter arrives," Edmund dabbed his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. "Promise you'll visit me at Christmas? And write to me?"

The prince grinned and stroked his cousin's frigid hand, "You know I always will. Give greetings from me to the family."

"I shall."

Edward's golden eyes smouldered, and peering around to see if they were alone for a second, he kissed Edmund's knuckle lightly. "Farewell."

The northern lord was swooning as the carriage slowly eased away from the palace. He was stroking the knuckle he'd been kissed upon with admiration. Christmas had better hurry up.

:::

Slave Jacob couldn't be more gleeful after he heard that Lord Edmund was returning to the north after a hellish week. Many of the other servants noticed this: "Why are you so happy, Jacob?" "What's got you smiling, then?" "You look joyful!" "Have you been eating the sausages again?!"

But young Jacob brushed them all off, like irksome dust on a black cloak, revelling secretly that Prince Edward was now deprived of a suspected lover. The slave didn't at all want Edward to be miserable; he just wanted Edmund out of the picture. And now he was…For a few months.

T'was the end of August, and the farms all around London, and indeed, Britain, were preparing for the withering winter. Harvest time was hastily approaching; and with Napoleon's victory over Austria and parts of Prussia, the harvest had to bring fine results.

In light of the recent addition of slaves brought over from India, Jacob was, for once, given some free time. "I can go anywhere?" He said with excitement to 'higher slave'.

"No, not _anywhere, _just anywhere in the grounds," The snobbish servant responded, stroking the leather whip in his greasy hand for breaking in the newbies.

"Really?" His twinkling eyes peered out of the window swiftly, and saw the distant forest. He was buzzing with adventure. "Thank you. Thank you so much!" Without warning, he embraced 'higher slave' firmly, but was pushed aside without hesitation.

"Get off us! I said you could have free time, not bloody free food!"

And thus, Jacob left the servants' quarters and was brought outside by the labyrinthine corridors and snaky staircases of the gargantuan palace. A cooling summer breeze stroked its soothing fingers through Jacob's onyx hair, rattling it into a naturalistic style. The sun beat down pristinely on the land, causing the vast fountain near the palace's entrance to sparkle and shimmer. The neatly trimmed gardens, of a grand array of colours and specimens, were alive with the hum of bees and the tweet of birds. Jacob felt like he'd entered a fairytale world; he'd never been allowed in the gardens before; only in the back, where the royals played polo and horse riding. But the front was like a whole new world, a perfect land of peace and tranquillity.

The youthful boy received foul looks off of snooty aristocrats; he ignored them with a smile. He cared not what the thoughts of others contained; he had his sights set on the nearby forest.

As he drew nearer to the trees, the aroma of earth and dried leaves spread from their confines, making Jacob's heart feel fuzzy, as if the forest was the right place for him. Perhaps it was because his earliest memories were of the woodland in the Caribbean, or because his fondest recollections stored riding in a carriage with Prince Edward through the Forest of Dean when he was fourteen. Whatever it was, Jacob had reached the trees.

Beneath the sounds of horses trotting, hags haggling and the newbies crying over the whack of 'higher slaves' whip, there was the immediately heavenly noise of singing. Almost like a very shy choir were residing in the forest and were chanting ethereally to a divine god…Maybe it had something to do with Threshold, thought Jacob. He'd been pondering over his guardian angel's existence numerously since she revealed herself, and he hadn't decided whether she was a figment of his imagination or real.

Still, Jacob ventured into the forest, down a moss eaten path and followed the singing, now becoming louder.

In the palace, Prince Edward was masturbating furiously in his bedroom, picturing Edmund rubbing himself provocatively against his leg, his firm erection teasing his thighs. Edward could feel his orgasm building up as his hand moved up and down faster. Eyes closed, he now imagined Edmund taking off his tight breeches and showing his cousin his seven inch member, now perfectly hard with drops of precum oozing from its tip. Edward immediately came there and then, his royal sperm spurting all over his chest. The prince sighed contentedly and wiped his sperm away with a tissue

And, as if he was waiting outside, Ambrose knocked on the door lightly. Edward pulled up his britches swiftly, and said in a croaky voice. "Enter."

Ambrose did so, wearing very expensive and elegant clothing, and starting picking up the prince's clothes which lay everywhere on the floor. "Good evening, your highness. I trust to it that you're missing your cousin after his departure this morning?" The butler folded the attire in his hands and put the neatly into Edward's many drawers and wardrobes.

"Aye, Ambrose, I am. I always find Edmund's presence so comforting, even though he can be a bit nasty at times," He got up from his bed and looked out of his spotless window.

"As I've gathered," Ambrose stifled a smirk. "What are you planning on doing today? The weathermen say the sun will stay awake until ten tonight, so you have much time left."

Edward grinned boyishly, looked at Ambrose with an undecipherable expression, and then turned back to his view, gazing at the bustling palace gardens below him. His father and mother sat on swanky chairs near the portico with servants waiting on them hand and foot. "Nothing, I guess."

"I see," A pause ensued as Ambrose picked up more clothes and folded them, until he said. "Napoleon is worrying your father, Edward."

He raised his fine eyebrows when he looked at the elder man. "Is he? Why? I thought he wouldn't really invade."

"Nor did we, until he started positioning troops and fleets on the northern coast of France," Ambrose let out a hopeless exhale. "If he does invade, will we be able to hold him off?"

Edward smiled chivalrously, sending the thought that he was definitely fit to be a king into Ambrose. "Of course we will; this is Britain; we don't back down easily. Old Bony's going to have to really test his army's limits should he wish to invade. But, enough of war, how goes my father? Is his condition worsening? I've just spotted him in the garden, so he must be getting better." The prince's countenance held pure hope, though Ambrose didn't know where his hope was directed.

"I'm sorry, boy, but the doctor doesn't think he'll survive September. This new disease is ravaging his body brutally; he is definitely slipping away," Ambrose dabbed his eye with the corner of his finger, and therefore didn't see the glimmer of joy on Edward's face; joy that his father would soon be dead.

**Here is chapter five. I hope you enjoyed it; I enjoyed writing it! I'll carry on with the mysterious choir scenario in the next chapter; I've got many thoughts at to what it could be. Thank you!**


	6. The Sixth Chapter

**Chapter Six-Books**

Cannons exploded and muskets fired, cavalries galloped to their deaths and brave soldiers cried as bayonets impaled their hearts effortlessly. The battlefield was horrifying on either side; casualties seemed to never end and the thick smoke from the gunpowder was impossible to breathe through. "L'empereur Napoléon, il semble que nous ne pouvons pas gagner cette bataille. Nous devons battre en retraite," Yelled one of Napoleon's men just before a bullet fired straight through his forehead. Napoleon gasped as speckles of crimson blood splashed his face. He turned from the corpse on the ground which he once called his best friend and entered his bulbous tent. "Jacques, pouvons-nous retraite?" He asked, and wiped the red liquid from his stubbly cheeks.

"Oui, via le col de la montagne, mais seulement quelques-uns d'entre nous peut. Le reste nous devons renoncer." A huge boom from nearby shook the entire tent as war trumpets bellowed over the furious chants of soldiers.

Napoleon thought for a moment. When another explosion sounded just outside, his thoughts were sealed. "Bien, nous fuyons."

And thus, Napoleon and his party of twenty fled from the great conflict through the dense forest and up the mountain pass. But before they had crested the peaks, Napoleon took one last look at the field he'd just escaped from, and saw the opposing army had vanquished France this time. He shall get his revenge. Britain shall be invaded, without mercy.

"You mean father ordered an attack on France for no reason?" Inquired Edward to Ambrose, absentmindedly inserting red grapes into his mouth. The cold juice from the fruit sweetened his cherry lips and the weak tang of them made the prince's face curdle a little.

"Yes, sir, he demanded it firmly without justification. If you ask me…" Ambrose lowered his regal voice. "...It's because of the medications he's been administered to ease the pain of his cancer."

Edward stifled a smirk, "Oh, how a tree is so easily felled. But still," His tone turned sour. "We are now at war, all because of my stupid father's rash decisions. His foolishness will cost us both lives and money, though it must be said, Napoleon was to invade us anyway," He put his long finger to his mouth and pondered for a moment. Prince Edward's countenance was dark, his eyes were cunning, callous even, and it seemed he was brewing up a plan. Ambrose watched on as his majesty's expression dissolved from the one just described to that of sunshine and joy, "Ambrose, fetch me my coat, I'm going to go for a walk."

Jacob was once again cleaning the countless royal portraits on the walls of the palace, hardly paying attention to what he was doing; his mind was elsewhere, grazing over the choir in the forest. When he went to investigate the ethereal voices, he found nothing which could bear such noise. Instead, he came across a stone upon a plinth that was wreathed in ivy and weeds which grew from the little cracks. It was in the centre of a circular opening of trees, and a shaft of sunlight beamed from above and onto the plinth. Upon closer inspection, Jacob found that the stone wasn't so inconsequential after all. In fact, it was remarkable. It held a dark pink gem encrusted into its heart, and though it could easily be carried in one hand, it had over fifteen miniature carvings. All of these were far too small for Jacob to decipher, except one, which was of an eye staring directly at the holder.

The young slave was entranced by the stone, wondering why it was placed in this small forest, in the gardens of the Royals, in the middle of London, and why it hadn't been picked up by anyone beforehand. The dark jewel shone in the sunlight beautifully, and sometimes Jacob thought he could see baby stars twinkle in the rock.

He had to come home eventually, however, and when he did, he took the stone with him…

As he scrubbed the frame of a stunning monarch delicately, he suddenly got goose bumps. He carried the stone with him at all times, shoving it in his pocket; it wasn't noticeable because his shirt covered it.

The goose bumps started to transform into that of shivers, as if a frosty finger was snaking its way slowly down his spine. Turning around to see if anyone was there, he was greeted with nothing. No one was around. He was confused as to why he instantly felt so exposed, and so observed. He felt like a demon's eyes were watching him dangerously, but again, found no one was present besides himself.

Jacob was thankful when he'd finally cleaned all the portraits on the north-wing, and hurriedly made his way to the servants' quarters, daring not to turn around. The eyes definitely followed him home…

Prince Edward was having a leisurely stroll in London town. The sky was grey and the rain was light, but the prince found no sorrow in this. He was making his way to the London Library, and didn't take the carriage for want to see the artistic architecture of his city. Many people mobbed him for an autograph, and he happily granted them with one. They all dispersed after a few metres.

The London Library was a breathtaking building of the Baroque. The grand columns at the portico entrance were in a trilogy plus one more, holding up the staggering triangular canopy with the words 'for Lord and love, we read' inscribed upon it.

The interior was even more outstanding; shelves upon shelves of books were lined along the walls, and the ceiling beheld a scene from the Bible, with pretty angel boys and thunderous waves lashing about in the paint.

The heir to the throne sauntered over to a certain section that was completely deserted, as no soul desired any information from the tomes cursed upon this subject. Most of the books were dusty, and some even had cobwebs clinging to them, but Edward cared not; he knew he'd find the tips for the job he will soon enact. He looked around to make sure no one was near and began scanning the shelf. His tight britches itched at his loins, therefore he stroked it a little to ease some pressure. The thick, manly eyebrows of his furrowed when he couldn't find the right book, though he soldiered on. _Where are you?_ He thought, his finger going over the spines of the works.

When he felt that the right book didn't exist, he found it! It was shoved right at the end of the bookshelf, with ages of dust embracing it. The pages were yellowed and parched, the binder was leather, and the peeling, golden words knitted into it spelled out _How to Kill a King_.

**Thank you reading this, much, much more to come! **


	7. The Seventh Chapter

**Chapter Seven-Passage**

As Prince Edward strolled through London merrily, the book on tips to killing a king shaking in his shoulder-bag, he decided to have some pressure released. His entire memory span has had knowledge of his homosexuality: when he was a six year old he always loved spanking the boys, when he was eleven he always loved playing polo with the handsome dukes, when he was sixteen he fantasised over planting his seed in his cousin, Edmund. However, Edward knew, much to his solemnity, that men cannot give birth. He also knew that men could not engage in coitus with other members of the same gender; that was sin!

But sin it may be, it did not defeat the lustful thoughts that swam through his mind everyday.

The young prince moved stealthily down a dingy alleyway in Camden, aware that none were observing, and pulled off his periwig, revealing his sharp, golden hair which drooped to his ears. His perfectly blue eyes scanned around for anyone. No being was around. This was the place he'd caught word of; the place where hidden homosexuals came to enact sex. Edward's firm erection pressed demandingly against his tight breeches, his stomach muscles hardened as he breathed longingly at the visage of slave Jacob rubbing his behind provocatively against Edward's crotch.

He was dragged from his beautiful reverie by footsteps coming up the alleyway. Edward's eyes widened; expecting it to be the police, ready to escort him to prison. He can't go to prison; he's a prince.

The footsteps drew nearer, clacking against the oily cobbles. Edward waited worriedly as the sound's creator's shadow slowly sauntered on the brick wall. It was definitely a man, a man of rich robes; his coat hung low and swung in the soft breeze.

The young prince jutted his chest out and balled his hands into fists when the figure turned the corner; he was ready to fight his way to jail. "Hello, sir," Croaked Edward at the man. The man was a typical, gentlemanly fellow. His hair was short and greased to the side; he had a clean face and stiff lips which tinged with crimson. The man's eyes were a russet brown, and his cheekbones towered over his features.

The man grinned at him, "Hello, Prince Edward."

The latter frowned and looked down at his fancy shoes.

"Oh, fear not, my prince; I am not here to take you away in chains, unless you like that," He winked at him, and Edward's angelic face brightened with a smile.

"I got a sense you preferred the company of men," Said the gentleman, walking over to the prince, whose erection was now fiercely aching for relief.

Edward smirked, feeling a slight sense of treachery for so openly admitting his desires. "How?"

"London's entire underground gay scene knows of Prince Edward and Lord Edmund's latent relationship," He winked at him.

Edward's throat turned into a desert.

"Don't fret over it; homosexuality is normal, the heterosexuals just don't understand it," He inched closer to the prince, their groins touching each other timidly. Edward gasped at the connection; the electrical sparks flying through his body exhilarated him.

"What's your name?" Edward uttered, looking down at the man's bulbous crotch.

He moved even closer, and their erections grinded against each other.

The prince moaned, eighteen years of sexual frustration finally being answered. He thrust himself against the stranger and grabbed hold of his manly buttocks.

"My name is Alistair. But enough of talking, shall we just get down to business?"

Edward grinned libidinously and dropped his bag on the floor, snaking his tongue into Alistair's mouth.

"I just need an hour, at least, in the library," Jacob pleaded to higher slave, who was scribbling down new ways to torture servants who didn't do as they were told.

The scribbler looked at Jacob tiresomely; his breath rich in stale fish, and said: "Why would the king want someone like _you _in his library?"

Jacob sighed plaintively, but was not going to give up that easily, "All the things I've done for you; can you not just sneak me in there. I know there are secret passages all over the palace."

Higher slave frowned and stared at the young servant ominously, "How dare you speak to me as if you're better than I am!"

Jacob shrank into his seat with a creak, "I know, I'm sorry, but you won't get into trouble; we know the king is never in there because of his illness, so I won't be caught."

Higher slave did definitely owe Jacob something after he took a beating two months ago instead of himself. He looked at the sun-kissed boy ambivalently, before sneering to him: "There's a trapdoor underneath the rug in the kitchen, open it with this key," He handed Jacob a rusty key with no distinct markings. "Then follow the tunnel until you come to some stairs. The first door on the left will lead you to a secret-door in the library. Be very silent."

Jacob's countenance shined effulgently, and thanked the slave a thousand times before running off to the kitchen. The key clasped within his sweaty hands and the mysterious stone shaking in his pocket, he cast the dusty rug aside and found the wooden door. The keyhole had an icy chill exhaling from it, and when Jacob peered into it he could hear distant wails coming from in its dark corridors. He was definitely scared, but needed to find information on the stone.

The click of the key in the hole alerted him that the trapdoor was accessible. He took a plate with a candle perched upon it into the depths with him and clamped the door shut. Instantly, the outside world was shut off; the noise of the palace upstairs was nonexistent, and a damp breeze coughed into Jacob's face, allowing the candle to flicker dangerously. The tunnel was very dark, even with the candle; it was definitely a deserted section of the palace; Jacob reckoned it could have been the servants' quarters, and the recent king built over it for a newer one. The cobwebs dangling from the ceiling tickled Jacob's neck, his footsteps echoed eerily from the far walls and a callous chill seemed to ceaselessly grasp him the more he moved through the secret passage.

He started to walk at more haste now, urgent to leave this ghostly place; he felt like he was being watched; similar to the time when he was cleaning the portraits, but with much more power. He could feel the eyes stabbing into his back, though he dared not turn around. "Where are these stairs?" He said to himself as the corridor snaked on and on.

Jacob started to get the feeling he was lost, forever lonely in this abandoned labyrinth. The more he became anxious, the stronger the unseen eyes became. The candle still flickered teasingly, making Jacob certain he would soon be plunged into dire darkness.

His hope was kindled when he came across the staircase, which was narrow and straight and shot up sharply. As he clambered up it, the candlestick shaking in the plate, he was certain he'd heard his name be whispered below him, yet he didn't focus on it; he was too afraid. Pushing on up the stairs, Jacob felt safer; the oblivious pit below him was definitely home to a godforsaken entity; it just worried Jacob that he'd need to come back through it on his return journey…

Eventually, he reached the secluded door to the palace library. Jacob was astounded by the room; it had over three floors, each one was crammed with ornate bookshelves. The wooden floor was varnished beautifully; the handles on the balconies were carved with images of roses and fairies. It was unquestionably a sight to see, but the slave knew he shouldn't be here, and swiftly made him way around the warm aisles of bookshelves to search for a tome focused on the stone. _Biographies, History, Classics, Music, Leadership, Romance, Fiction, Reference, Maps, Myths. _Myths was the section Jacob was scouring for; he scanned around the shelf for a book surreptitiously. Soon enough, one was found which seemed to be of note: _Magical Stones of Britain_

It seemed as if the book was made for him, or as if someone, or something, had placed it there purposely…

Jacob stole the book and placed it underneath his top for concealment. He then let out an uneasy breath and headed back into the tunnel…

**Thank you for all the positive feedback. **


	8. The Eighth Chapter

Chapter Eight-Wishes

Jacob sneaked through the secret door disguised as a bookshelf and entered the gloomy passage once again. A brisk breeze howled through the corridor, closing the door behind him silently. He was alone and in darkness, with Magical Stones of Britain tucked under his arm. The pages of the ancient tome seemed to retract inside its bidings, almost as an instinct of the dread that was saturated in this place. The candle he'd used as a beacon to venture through this place at first was now diminished: he had no source of light. The young slave was rooted on the spot, straining his brown eyes for any flicker of a glow, or perhaps a darkened silhouette of someone. Nothing could be seen. Even his own hand, when waved in front of his face, was invisible. Jacob's gasps of terror were mingled with the distant echoes of screams, the audible whimper of the tainted.  
>All hope was nonexistent to the youthful Jacob now; why did he have to go looking for a stupid book? Why did he not trust his senses and decide to intrude into this tomb? As he cursed himself on his choices, a pale, pink aura eminated from his trouser pocket. Taking in a sharp breath, he reached into his pocket and found that the mysterious stone was shimmering! The gem in the centre of the artefact began to brighten, and was a sort of torch for Jacob. The glow it produced was entrancing; it glittered, and lit the whole passageway a gentle tinge. The odd carvings around the gem, and especially the gazing eye, were also of a curious light: silver. They were much more subdued than their dominant master, but they were still noticable. Jacob thought he would soon fall into the jewel's beautiful semblance; it was the most enchanting thing he'd ever seen. But that is what he thought, he knew he shouldn't; he had to get out of the tunnel. He sprinted down the dusty staircase, the magical torch as a guide, channeled down the corridor and finally made it the the trapdoor at the servants' quarters. Jacob felt like no soul was watching him this time.<br>He clambered out of the underground realm and into the empty quarters. The slaves must be working, Jacob considered. He was right; the king had ordered some help down in the kitchens for the Royal Feast; the young slave would need to report there soon. Though before he could, he glanced down at the stone in his hand to find that it no longer had any effulgence; it was the same, intriguing thing he'd found before, but without its light.  
>At rapid speed, he ran to his bedside and opened up the Magical Stones of Britain book. Flipping through the hundreds of yellowed parchment, his eyes turned to stars at the sight of his rock in there: 'The Stone of Wishes.<br>The Stone of Wishes is a very powerful artefact forged by beings unknown over five hundred years ago. It has only been detected once, by the mage, Almons Repells, a French man from Orl ans. Since then, it has slipped from his grasp and landed into the clutches of uncertainty. The stone has a many markings embedded onto its smooth surface, the most obvious of these is an eye, which stares at the holder unwaveringly. In the heart of the Wish Stone is the rarest gem of all time, the Rogue. The Rogue looks slightly like a ruby, but is of much lighter colour and hones absolute power. Now, the reason the stone is named The Stones of Wishes, or the Wish Stone, is because its bearer's desire is the stone's manifestation. Almons Repells is quoted as saying, "This stone is mystical, blessed and vigorous, but it holds a very strong magic. The owner of this jewel must use it wisely."  
>So, therefore, the Stone of Wishes is definitely false; no such stone has ever been found (Repells died in a mental institute), and its hexes and spells are clearly the works of the imagination. Onto our next gem...'<br>Jacob closed the book with the crinkle of aged paper and looked down slowly at the object in his right hand. The metallic eye in the rock returned the gaze without a blink. Jacob looked down at the pink diamond and fingered it lightly, feeling chills and sparks course through his body. He is now immortal, if he so craves.

Prince Edward returned from the sexual encounter in the alleyway to the palace, his blissful countenance plastered with a great smile. He had not had complete intercourse with Alistair, but had had his member suck skillfully. Edward didn't mind giving back the favour, either. He knew now that he was definitely a homosexual, and found no interest in what lay under women's attire; he loved women as people, they were brilliant to chat with and always made him smile, though he sought no lust with them. However, he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to have a child. He wanted someone to conceive his heir, though we all know that men cannot give birth; unless wishes came true...

Sorry if this is short, but it's to add basis to the stone. I hope you enjoyed the fantasy element. :) 


	9. The Ninth Chapter

**Chapter Nine-Divulgement**

Prince Edward was accustomed to making his father's tea every morning. He'd done so since he was seven. The king always had two sugars in his richly decorated cup, along with a fresh slice of lemon. However, his child would be substituting the sweetener with something of a different stroke.

Edward, shifting his eighteen year old body with excitement, was stood over the teapot which the king would solely be using. Peering around in the room adjacent to the royal's bed chamber, he added a generous amount of poison into the amber liquid. He gave it a soft stir, and covered the pot, as if nothing at all had been altered to the tea.

"Here you are, father. See it as congratulatory for your improvement," Edward poured some tea into the cup and handed it to his father. "It would have been dire if you should have perished."

"Thank you, m'boy," King George II took a deadly sip of the tea, noticing not the foul addition to it. "Oh, that tastes nice. What've you added to it?"

"I just added a third spoon of sugar, for your sake," Edward was sat at his father's bedside, his eyes gleaming gaily.

"Really; it has a funny, almost vanilla like, infusion."

The prince said swiftly, "Yes, that is the secret. I'm sorry I didn't admit it to you."

"Ah, I see. Any news on Napoléon, then, son?" George II was completely oblivious to what his foolish choice had spawned.

"Yes, actually," Edward's tone was sour. "We believe he's marshalling a ferocious fleet on the Normandy coast."

"But we're at war, so we can invade whenever we see fit. I say we press into France now," The king had no expression on his countenance, and even if he did, the decay of the cancer's hand had scarred it with wrinkles which made any emotion undecipherable.

Edward gave his father a domineering look, mingling it with the utmost abhorrence, such a feeling that George could not configure, "Father, I reckon that that's a decision of the utmost idiocy."

"How dare you speak to your father in a manner such as this? What do you know about commanding?"

His child desired to bellow that he'd been granted a gift, a gift for weakening a foe's forces effortlessly, but he knew he shouldn't, "Nothing, sir. I know nothing at all about how to kill someone. Drink your tea before it goes cold, father; you don't want to slay its flavour.

Jacob had learned not to disrespect the Wish Stone's power. He kept it concealed from the view of his subservient peers via the itchy feathers of his mattress. In fact, after discovering its grand ways, he hardly even touched it, worried if it decided to turn against him.

He'd been ordered to arrange the cutlery for a feast appointed to the arrival of an aristocrat from the land of the Scots. The man was named as William Artichoke, of the Artichoke Dynasty, and had a particular reputation for steering clear of the female sphere. This aroused no interest in Jacob for many reasons, but for Prince Edward, it may.

Speaking of the conceited and murderous teenager, Jacob craved to be in his presence. The latest event of this was the day before the departing of Lord Edmund, which was a fatiguing month ago. He expected, however, that he'd be seeing the prince tonight; he was to wait upon the royals.

When the entire hall was dressed to the nines, the servants were permitted a brief break. Jacob, after meticulously placing the fine china plates, elegant knives and forks, pristine napkins, and sanguine wineglasses, desired to speed for the whispering woods, where he found the Wish Stone.

Now in fancy attire, wearing an irritating periwig and very tight breeches, he blended in with those who normally strolled through the grounds.

The sky was dun, irrepressibly grey. No rain yet fell from them, but all who owned a brain knew it was soon to be.

He made it to the woods. The leaves were still arranged in the emerald's department, but he knew that in a few weeks, they'd be shifting over to the ruby. The same applied to the flowers, the grasses, the pristine hedges. All would soon succumb to winter's ways.

Jacob followed the path that he took previously. His hard, black, shiny shoes clacked against the ancient flags, now conquered by algae and moss. As he delved deeper into the trees, they grew thicker. The path was nearly invisible to the eye which did not peruse. Sharp, leafless branches scratched at Jacob's attire ominously. The Stone of Wishes, which he took from his mattress before, seemed to beckon nature to it. The wind centred on Jacob, the leaves that had fallen the year before whisked themselves around the slave, the birds circled overhead.

Eventually coming to the opening, now of a much more gothic manner, he acknowledged the presence stood near the plinth. "I'm glad you're here. Real or not, I have many questions to ask," Jacob said.

Threshold turned to him, golden hair draping over her dainty shoulders. Her beautiful face was spiced with melancholy, her blue eyes concerned. "I know what you long to know, but to answer them requires the grasp of the clock's hands. Our last meeting was equivocal; you knew not whether I was of the earth or not, but it did save you from execution. My appearance to you then was to stop death from approaching you, for this very reason; you were supposed to find the stone that lies in your pocket."

The winds still howled around the two, trapping them in a sphere that ensnared the opening. "Please, tell me what this thing truly is," He reached into his pocket and returned it with the stone. He gasped when he saw it glowed like in the passage, but with a much duller light.

"Only around the creators of it, does it shine like that," Threshold said, moving over to the boy gracefully.

"Then why did it glow in the tunnel? Was that for my wish?"

"Nay. You hone not the power to command this Stone."

"So how did it glow? I saw no one was in my presence then."

Threshold's face darkened, "What is the antithesis of an angel, Jacob?"

The word immediately sprang into his mind, but he didn't say it out loud; it was written on his face.

Threshold carried on, "Yes, they also helped to create the Stone. It is a deep tale, one which can not be recited in such a scenario. Maybe one day you'll hear of it, but for now, you must be wary. I will watch over you constantly; yet the demons can be too strong. That Stone will draw every creator to it; when parted from its plinth, its power is unleashed."

Jacob grinded his teeth, "Why did you allow me to take it, then?"

"It was supposed to happen. I know not what will be of your fate, but I knew that the Stone was destined to reside in your hands."

His emotions were suppressed, "So, what matter will be born should a demon gain it?"

"Only the creators can yield its strength: the angels will use it to vanquish evil, and the demons will use it for the opposite."

"Why don't you take it from me now and destroy the evil?"

"The only way for someone to control the Stone is to slay its bearer. I cannot do that to you; it would be saturated with irony should your guardian angel commit such an act."

Jacob knew not what to say; he was a target of all. "Will angels harm me?"

"Of course not; they'll protect you, along with me," The winds calmed slightly. "But we cannot allow a demon to corrupt your mind. Demons are capable of shape shifting, unlike us, and they can mingle with your surroundings easily."

"Is a demon in the palace?!" Jacob cried.

"Not that I'm aware. If one was, however, we'd know, yet we wouldn't know who it was; that's for your judgement. Now, I must fly; there's much work that needs to be done."

"Wait, may I ask one final question?" Jacob grabbed Threshold's hand lightly. It was warm and sent a vibration through his nerves.

"I'll allow it."

"Why was Almons Repells in a mental institute?"

"Maybe his fate will be displayed to you soon…"

And with that, Threshold vanished, and the winds ceased to blow with ferocity. The beautiful stone stopped glowing, and the forest returned to the soporific state. Jacob stayed with his thoughts for a few moments, until the loud yelp of the horn from the palace emerged, demanding him to return for the grand feast.

He did so, trudging up the path…

**In the next chapter, I shall have much flirting inside. The Scottish aristocrats is very flirtatious with the boys. ;) Much love. ^_^**


	10. The Tenth Chapter

**Chapter Ten-William**

After Jacob had speeded back to the palace, hundreds of thoughts plaguing his mind, he was called to the grand hall, where the feast would commence, to add some final, minor improvements for the overindulged guests.

"Oi, you lot," Higher slave bellowed to the servants, minutes before they were to be called up for the alterations. "I've just received news that the king won't be feasting, summat about his illness getting worse. Anyway, somebody else will need to take his place. The royals have said I can choose one of you, but I'm not too sure; why would I want to see someone else up there instead of me?" The impolite peer scowled at the group. "However, the royals have said that I cannot be chosen; I must watch over you all. Therefore, I'll choose…Elizabeth."

He pointed over to the bonny girl, who had aged no more that sixteen years, and thus, the entirety of the group also followed the appendage's path. Elizabeth Elms hailed from Wales, and was chosen by 'higher slave' for her petite being and envious etiquette.

"But Oscar, I know nothing of true mealtime manners," She said, in front of the sharp eyes of the group.

Jacob sighed at the tedium about to ensue.

"Ergo," She continued, shifting under the glares. "I'll have to decline your offer."

The chooser scoffed at her declination, feeling a little insulted, and said, "You're going to give up a place at the royal feast? I don't know how your monotonous mind's mechanics function, Miss Elms, but I do know that you're a slight imbecile for that impudence."

There was a silence, broken only by footsteps upstairs.

"I'll choose Jacob then," Oscar said. "Not for any reason except that you're a little bit more acquainted with the conceited prince more than us, and you're a little bit prettier than the other boys in this hellhole."

Jacob looked up from his elegant shoes with an intake of breath, "I'm sorry? You'll prefer to choose me than Henry here?" He nodded to the seventeen year old next to him. "He is, against your perfect judgement, far more beautiful than I."  
>"Beautiful he is, charismatic he is not," Henry coloured from the stifled laughter of his 'friends'.<p>

"Well, I guess I have no choice but to accept your decision, Oscar." Jacob tried to conceal his joy with the mask of a stiff upper lip; he'd learned from a very early age to never express your enthusiasm or sorrow.

"Right, that's that then. Jacob, you'll wait here while I take these vagabonds to the hall; I'll return for you momentarily."

"What for, sir? What is it about Jacob that requires single assistance?" Sneered Henry, causing Jacob to shy away from his neighbour.

"What is it about you that requires a single flogging? Oh, I remember now, your aptitude for arrogance and cheek!"

The group laughed as they ascended the hard, cold staircase, leading to the labyrinthine corridors which snaked to the hall. Jacob, shrouded in solitude, listened to their echoes die away. Instantly, he felt completely alone. He tried to distract himself by pondering over what the night would hold; what would the royals really be like at the parties? He was also anxious to meet the fabled Scotsman. But it was a distraction easily implemented; the truth that Threshold had divulged to him in the forest was in his every waking thought. Was there a demon lurking behind him now? He confirmed in the negative when he spun around swiftly. Was one watching him from the ceiling? Again, his movements made him look more of a fool than prove if a watcher was around. Still, the overwhelming feeling of interrogation grasped him. He wanted to drop the Stone, which was in his posh pocket, and flee the scene. Jacob felt as though the demons weren't around him, but inside him, coercing his soul to submission. Was he the demon that Threshold had warned him of?

The restless reveries were ceased when Oscar returned, for once a moment of joy for Jacob. "Right, you, we need to get you looking nice, don't we?"

"But I am, Oscar," Jacob stood up and gestured to his attire.

Oscar smirked, "We need you to look a little paler; one does not want to see a foreigner at the table."

Jacob's feelings were hurt, "I'd prefer not to; I like my skin."

"Perhaps _you _do, but _they _shall not."

"Let's be honest, Oscar, what do they have that makes them greater than us? Apart from money, don't they have the same working brain, the same working limbs, the same working heart as our clique?" Jacob gave a deep sigh; he honestly didn't want to go to the feast; he was used to being behind the scenes than actually in it.

For once, Oscar displayed a sense of affection in his impenetrable eyes, "Jacob, as you well know, any soul that allows another to be in chains is without the perks you just detailed."

The young slave could not deny Oscar's point.

"So, let's get you powdered."

After Oscar had made Jacob look a little bit paler, and fitted a new periwig to him, one of the white colour, they were ready to be at the feast. His attire remained the same: black britches, a black waistcoat with a paper-white shirt underneath, and onyx shoes with golden laces. According to the major, he looked "divine".

"Who knows, perhaps Mr Artichoke will marry you, any you'll finally leave this place and live in Scotland. Oh, I'll be overjoyed if that does commence," They were on their way to the hall now. Jacob asked if they'd walk a little bit slower, for the shoes hurt and his anxiety was palpable.

But to the words just voiced by Oscar, Jacob's countenance drained of blood, "Meaning what? You're referring to homosexuality?"

"Of course I am, Jacob; I've known it since you were ten that you preferred the sausage to the cabbage," Oscar laughed at his humour, which Jacob also engaged in. "But yes, it bothers me not if you prefer the company of your own gender."

"Thank you, it gives me great pain in admitting it."

"Why should it? The chains that lock your soul must be relieved in some way."

"Truth. But what do you mean about Mr Artichoke?"

"Well, William Artichoke, as his proper name goes, is definitely of the same sphere as you."

Jacob tried to furrow his brow, but the gleam in his eyes made all attempts at seriousness seem futile, "And how is his homosexuality confirmed?"

"He has a wife, yes, but does he love her, or does he love any other female in a physical manner? No, he does not. It is well known that the pleasure he receives is from the loins of men."

They both giggled, "I don't see how he'd marry me; marriage is a conspicuous arrangement."

"Maybe it is, but a marriage of two men is done in secrecy; I've been to many."

The feast was a most joyous occasion. Jacob found that he fit in perfectly, though he received some odd looks off the royals who knew who he really was. He was ecstatic to see Prince Edward there, and even more so that he was seated across the table from him. But this was overshadowed by the fact that William was Jacob's neighbour. The latter boy found William was twenty years old, black haired and not in the slight bit effeminate. He was, by no means, overtly masculine, but he blended in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd. Jacob also found that William was devastatingly handsome; he had the roguish look that he favoured toward.

After the starters were served and taken away, the table erupted with chatter. Jacob hardly knew what to say to anyone; he desired to speak to Edward, but he found that two things made that impossible: he was already in conferment with another, and the vivacity of the voices around him cancelled any chance of Edward hearing him from across the table.

Thus, his only two options were a frail, antediluvian woman on his left side, and the latent William on his right. He definitely chose the last.

Shocked that William wasn't already conversing, he began the chat by saying, "How beautiful Scotland must be."

William looked at Jacob, and his lips curved upwards, "Aye, and what do you know of it?"

"Well, I have read some books on it. I used to be Prince Edward's driver," He gestured to the bubbling boy, "But the most north we've been to was Cambridgeshire."

William grinned wolfishly and slapped Jacob on the back lightly, "Cambridgeshire? Nay, lad, the rolling greens of that place are in no means of the relation to Scotland's fells."

"I understand that. From which part do you hail?"

"Edinburgh, though my manor, Naydsham Park, is where I reside mainly," He coughed, and carried on, "My wife does not live there."

Jacob tried to decipher why he'd inform him that, "Oh, where does she live?"

"Balmoral," William's eyebrows furrowed at the talk of his wife.

Jacob wanted to test him, to see if he really was as Oscar implied, "What is your wife like?"

"She's a very pretty lady."

"Of no remarkable features?"

"Well, she has nice eyes, a nice nose…" William was clearly trying to scour for a decent adjective.

"And her brother, if she has one?" Jacob smirked to himself.

"Oh, he's a fine, young lad. Eighteen, and has the chest of a god. He has a lovely smile, y'know, and he's bloody brilliant at hunting. He looks a little bit like you," The Scotsman's face softened.

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"Do so, for t'was."

Their legs touched under the table. Neither of them retracted their appendages, "So," Jacob continued. "What brings you to London?"

"Aristocratic business of the loneliest kind."

"You're without a companion?" Jacob inquired, rubbing his leg against his newfound friend's.

Mr Artichoke smiled wolfishly and returned the rubbing, "No, I'm not."

"That's a shame…"

"Aye, it is."

Eventually, the main-course was brought in, and the two men ate it pleasurably, whilst the connection of their legs grew more intimate. Jacob was pulled from his bubble with William by the voice of Edward, "Dear, Jacob, is that you?"

All eyes were cast upon the soul within Edward's words.

"Yes, it is, _Edward_."

"Damn fine to see you here," Edward winked at him, allowing Jacob's stomach to flutter. He was very happy to be at the feast.

"It's nice to see you as well, William," The two men shared a knowing look between them, one which Jacob caught and immediately he returned his leg to its rightful place. He was instantly surprised at the fact which was so evidently clear to the eyes that knew where to look.

"Mm, Edward, it's very nice to see you. How is your father? I hear he isn't well."

Most of the table then asked the same question but with different words.

Edward calmed the voices, "He is a little bit sick. It must be something he ate or drank because, quite frankly, his illness was retreating."

Everybody sighed at the fact, apart from Edward.

"And how fairs the war, sir?" Inquired the boy next to the prince.

"We're at war?" Jacob interjected.

"Yes, we are. And there's no news yet; nothing has really happened."

The feast past by in the same, soporific shade until it was executed perfectly by the declaration of king's death. All souls gasped and talked animatedly at the fact. Some cried, others beheld an expression of indifference, Edward being one of them. Jacob had no feeling whatsoever that his master was no longer in existence, yet William seemed to use the scenario as a chance to advance on Jacob. The latter boy felt a warm whisper in his ear, "Are you engaged tomorrow?"

He was surprised by the effrontery of the man, but ultimately he felt forced into an answer, "No, not that I'm aware."

"Excellent news. I am to visit the theatre tomorrow to see a new play and have no companion. Would you like to attend?"

Jacob was ambivalent about answering after the accusation of the prince and the Scotsman in his mind, but sincerely he was flattered, and felt a rupture in his chest that he'd not endured before. It was a heavenly feeling that people in stories were supposed to have, and Jacob was completely welcoming of it, "I'd love to."

"Excellent," Admitted William, his eyes shining. "I'll pick you up at five."

All the while that this arrangement was alive, Edward fretted not over the expected death of his father, but over the contents of what the two in front of him talked over. He actually felt jealous.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **


	11. The Eleventh Chapter

**Chapter Eleven-Stalemate**

Upon the dismissal of the feast's guests, except they who were accomodated at the palace, Edward rushed up to his father's bedchamber to confirm if his wage was granted.  
>William, after saying a fond farewell to Jacob, followed after him, informing the prince that his sympathy and empathy were directed towards the Royals' hearts.<br>Edward was grateful, yet William's sharp eye allowed him to notice that Edward seemed apathetic towards his destination. In fact, he seemed to be the opposite of concerned, which was apathy. William wanted to question him on this, but his tact sealed his lips swiftly.  
>When the pair arrived at the chamber, the king lay dead upon the bed, his last breath being inhaled by the occupants, who were, apart from who we follow, the queen and Ambrose.<br>William gave his sincere condolences, and Edward consoled his grieving mother. Ambrose dabbed his handkerchief to his tears, reminiscing over the memories he'd had with George.  
>Yes, everybody else grieved and wept, including Edward, but we are aware that it was a putrid mask, and his tears were most likely that of sorrow's antithesis than of the relation to his peers' emotions.<br>All of London, the next day, had closed the complete list of its shops, bars, and theatres, out of respect. Jacob was not at all surprised when his Scottish acquaintance had told him that their plans must be postponed until next week, because both of them would be busy with the forthcoming coronation of their friend.  
>Jacob revelled in the fact that Edward was to become king in six days, and he wondered where his reign's allegiance would lurk.<br>He was not at all bothered by Edward's predecessor's death, and he inadvertently copied the prince in his charade. Why should he sob at the bereavement of the man who'd place him in chains, killed his parents, and burned his village? Nay, Jacob was happy.  
>But happiness could not expel the fact that there were demons stalking him, and even though Threshold and others were guarding him, he felt unsafe.<br>Every step he seemed to take made the Stone of Wishes call out at greater volume to its seekers.  
>He knew he had to venture into the passage again and return to the library; he had to find more books on defence against demons. However, a thought struck him: maybe, because he was now in authority, Edward would allow him to go to the library without trouble. He'd have to inquire about it to the prince, but how was he to gain a meeting with him? Edward was now the most famous person in Britain, and was thus in demand everywhere. Hmm...Jacob may need to think this one through.<p>

Two days after the ceasement of George II's rulership, Edward and William sat alone under the portico of the palace, within the pleasure of the former's time of expense.  
>They both drank tea and ate biscuits, talking idly, unaware that the same soul lingered within each of their many reveries.<br>And because of William's blindness to Edward's desire, he said, with confidence, how pleased he was that Jacob was one of the palace's residents. Edward looked up from his cup, his eyes draining of contentment and being refilled with envy, "I noticed your attachment at the feast."  
>"Did you, lad?" William patted his friend's leg. "We'd arranged a date, though the recent events had altered such a pleasure to postponement."<br>"I see. And the date was located, or would contain?"  
>"We were to attend the theatre." William let out an exhale of exultation.<br>Edward snorted with derisive attack, "So you don't know of Jacob's class?"  
>The Scotsman responded with the obliviousness that housed his affection, and Edward impressed upon him Jacob's servitude. When this had been done, William, though shocked, seemed to be unswayed by this fact, addding to Edward's dissuasion that Jacob was a fine boy with affable qualities suitable for secret matrimony.<br>Edward's face soured, and his lips curled into a sneer, "We both know our preferences, but I must tell you that I shan't allow Jacob to be married; he's a great slave," He stuttered. "I'll keep him in confinement to this structure, if need be."  
>William's cup hit the saucer with a twang, almost cracking it, and his Scottish tone turned abrasive, "You have changed; I thought you were all for liberty."<br>"I am," Edward massaged his temples.  
>"But you'd prefer it if someone remained in hellish captivity than endure luxury?"<br>"Jacob is also a friend, I wouldn't crave his absence."  
>"You could visit him, in Scotland..." William's voice was suspicious, and when Edward coloured, he whispered, harshly, "You're smitten for him, aren't you?"<br>The prince tried to deny it by the shaking of his head, but his lips would not part for its confirmation of the denial.  
>William smirked, "Well, it seems that even though you're enamoured to Mr. Black, he returns nothing but the enactment of your demands. I see it not that you can hoard your love, for I have more power over you while you remain a prince, and I can steal your treasure via currency."<br>Edward's brow creased, his shoulders broadening, "So foolish would your decision be, for a cemetery has been granted a new addition by my hand, and another can soon be welcomed to its ranks."  
>William gasped, but composed himself, "I shall not be threatened, otherwise the authorities shall be snatching you off."<br>Edward's laughter was spiced with animosity, and as he poured himself another cup of tea, he said, nonchalantly, "There are two reasons that that cannot be enforced: one, you have no proof of my actions, and the sequel to that obstruction, I have a secret on you."  
>"But I can admit your homosexuality also."<br>"True, but then I'll have nothing to lose, being subdued to execution, whereas you'll have many things to forego."  
>William leant back in his seat, and birthing a deep sigh, he accepted Edward's words.<br>"Good," Said the murderer. "Now, let me tell you of how I slayed my father."  
>As Edward told the Scotsman, the latter's stomach churned without rest as he knew there was no way Edward would be caught without winning.<p> 


	12. UPDATE-REASSURANCE

Just writing to assure all you bromance lovers that I will upload chapter twelve, just a little later than usual. Fear not. ^-^


	13. The Twelfth Chapter

**A/N: I'd just like to thank everyone who reads this for the unwavering support you are feeding me. The fact that so many people are reading, reviewing and placing this on their favourites list is completely inspiring. I truly appreciate every follower, favourite and review. Also, thank you for waiting for this chapter for such a long time. ^_^**

**Chapter Twelve-Hands**

Edward's coronation was the pinnacle of the year's events. Taking place in the typicality of Westminster Abbey, and the monarch being granted the crown which was snatched from his father just seven days prior, Edward was finally made king. Ninety-per cent of Britain's aristocracy was present; most cheered, some scowled, others, referring to the noble William, watched on with disdain at the hands that the Empire was being brought to.

As soon as the coronation was over, William fled to Scotland, to his manor. But before he stepped into that carriage, he left something behind for someone to find. And he knew that the person it was aimed at would definitely find it.

Jacob wasn't allowed to be at Westminster, remaining at the palace with his petulant peers. And almost like a clash in fate that was perfectly timed, he sneaked to the library, this time through the corridors and hallways, and not the dingy passageway.

His attire made him look like he was meant to be there; no one made a second glance. He again took the whole library in with fascination; never had he seen something that rivalled the sublime woodwork decorating the bookshelves, the pristine marble columns holding up the staircase, and the intricately carved stone cherubs looking down from the ceiling's four corners.

With a silent praise to the architect, he began to scan the many shelves. Once more, he was greeted with a cornucopia of classes. Seriously, he thought, who'd long to know the innards of every herb on the British Isles? Maybe they're called botanists.

Eventually he came across demonology. Each tome held a dark semblance; there seemed to be something evil about the pages, the bindings. Still, Jacob took the book stating how to have defence against a demon. It was definitely old, but not at all read; the spine wasn't creased, nor were the leaves free from the grasp of the spine. He tucked the book into a satchel that he spied from a table close to him; if he was going to steal a book, he might as well steal something with it. The satchel was without any burdens, except a few loose coins at the bottom, which Jacob would gladly cash in for some bread.

He left the library nonchalantly, and returned to the servants' quarters, where he concealed the satchel well. He'd return to read the book when his duties were completed.

Meanwhile, King Edward was returning from the coronation with high spirits. Finally was he able to rule Britain. The first thing on his list was to deal with Napoléon, once and for all. Rumours were pouring in from all corners of the English coast that French galleons were spotted lurking on the horizon. A trustworthy source, the Duke of Portsmouth, reported fishing ships never returning from their daily rounds, or, if they did return, the occupants were of the air: vanished.

King Edward was perturbed, and, in all honesty, a little concerned about these stories. He knew that France was growing stronger as the day went by, and, though the British Empire was rather powerful itself, it would definitely be a fight to the death. Should Britain lose, it _will _berazed, just like Austria, yet should France fall, then Britain will harbour unconquerable might and a fearsome reputation.

He immediately commenced a meeting between him and the MPs. All of the MPs agreed that France should be taken head on; fight the bull with a sword to its nostrils. But Edward knew this was a foolish strategy, and, just like his father, they knew nothing of the intricacies of war. Thus, Wellington entered the scene, a master of the battlefield and a genius when it came to military tactic. He and the king got on remarkably well, and they both knew the most perfect ways to ensure Napoléon's defeat. However, they also knew that Napoléon was an expert at commanding, and was ergo a worthy adversary. Yet the situation became more precarious each day; France was producing over fifty war ships a week, whereas its main rival was doing the same, minus forty-nine! Edward demanded that the towns of Portsmouth, Whitby, Bristol, Liverpool, Glasgow, Newcastle and Southampton be transformed as major dockyards.

:::

When Jacob had finished his tasks, he sprinted back to his quarters, eager to delve into the book. His shoes clapped against the stone slabs, his hair waved to the watchful portraits on the wall; for some unknown reason, he wanted nothing more than to read the tome. A hand instantly grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the wall, without warning, and with extreme force. Jacob felt the invisible hand grow tighter around his frail neck; the icy fingers digging into his flesh, a black aura gaining density. A second hand made his mouth open, and then was plunged down his throat. Jacob coughed and choked, tears streaming from his eyes; to breathe was impossible, and he didn't know if the black aura was really his vision fading or something else. The hands held no mercy, and the one gripped around his neck was made even tighter, and the one down his throat was further down. Trying to lash out was futile; there was nothing of essence about the hands except when they touched him.

The hand that was down his throat pulled out, but Jacob still couldn't breathe, and his heart pained him. He needed to inhale; his eyes were blurring, and his legs buckled. The extra appendage made a savage claw at his right cheek, drawing blood swiftly. Therefore, with the blow, Jacob was gone. The last thing he remembered was hitting the ground, with the hand still tightly wrapped around his neck.


	14. The Thirteenth Chapter

**Chapter Thirteen-Reject**

Edward hadn't heard from Alistair since their first moment together; the latter had left the king with no indication to his whereabouts, his surname, or even his profession. How was Edward supposed to return to him? His sexual desires were becoming concerning; all he ever thought about was either the war, or sex. Sense was made from these reveries, of course; he was denied homosexual interaction at every turn.

To make matters worse, he was being pressed by all the bigwigs around him to birth an heir; thus, a marriage must be consummated. This worried Edward; he would be able to marry a woman, and even live with one, but to have intercourse with one was a different scenario altogether. Could he get _it _up?

This was the topic, minus the sensitive strokes, that was being conversed upon underneath the portico on this mild September morning between the king, his still grieving mother, and his loquacious aunt, named Emma, who was down in the capital to console her sister.

The Sun was without any obstacle, beaming down ethereally onto the table where the trio sat having tea. The trees that were on the far side of the well-groomed field drank in all of the light, saving up for the long hibernation that will commence on the next month.

"So, Edward, any luck in finding a potential suitor?" Enquired Emma, gesticulating to her dashing nephew. She didn't let him respond, seeing this as an excuse to talk. "My old friend, Helen, who lives in Bath, has a lovely daughter named Cassandra. Oh, she'd be perfect for you, Edward. I tell you what…" Emma added, taking a slurp of her tea, and missing the sigh from the king, "…I could arrange a date with you and her. She's on her way to London actually to visit _her _aunt, and I know that she'll adore you. You have got quite the divine features, my dear," She chuckled. "Do you agree to the plan? What do you say Jane? Don't you think your son would love to meet Cassandra?"

Jane put on a smile, which was betrayed with such sorrow in her eyes, and stated, "Yes, he would, would you not, Edward?"

He shifted in his seat, stirring his tea nervously. The two pairs of eyes, one pair gleaming, and the other doused, yearned for him to accept. He'd already destroyed his mother's life, and he knew that this would at least make her a little more radiant. "Of course," His voice was hoarse.

"Marvellous," Cried Emma. "What fun this is. I'd never have thought you to be the marrying type, Edward. I remember when you were just a child, playing with the boys in the grand bedrooms. I never knew what you were doing in there, probably playing knights," Her melodic laugh filled the table. "Oh, yes, you'll be very partial to dear Cassy. She has long, brown hair and flawless skin. And her personality, don't get me started on that. In fact, I will anyway," Again, she laughed. "She knows how to keep the conversation going; a rare treat in these times. She is the life of the party, knows how to cook brilliantly, and is grandly amusing. Oh, dear Edward, how I know you'll love her."

As her sister rattled on about Cassandra's person, Jane observed her son with perplexity. Even though he was grinning at the thought of meeting this seventeen year old, his eyes, just like her own, beheld the emotion of sorrow. Jane looked down at her tea worriedly.

An hour past, and they were all still sat at the table chatting about the marriage. I say _they, _I really mean Emma. Edward and Jane couldn't get a word in edgeways. It was only until a messenger arrived at their conversation that Emma's attention was elsewhere directed.

The messenger seemed to have a pained look on his countenance, and said, to Edward, but within evident earshot of the remaining two, that an accident has happened.

"What such accident is this?" Edward asked with a slab of dread over his mind. Was it Napoléon?

"I've been sent by Oscar, of the slaves' quarters. He's told me to tell you that one of their occupants has died. These are his words," The messenger took out a piece of parchment and read, "'To our majesty. I am writing to inform you that your close friend and servant Jacob Black was found dead last night in the east corridor. The death has been ruled as asphyxiation and loss of blood. We do not know who was the perpetrator to his bereavement, or even if it was a murder. I am grieving over our loss. Oscar Advent.'"

The messenger asked for a response that he should take to Oscar, but Edward sat with a look of horror on his face. His hands shook, and for the first time since he was eleven, a sole tear escaped from his eye. "I must be excused." He stood and walked away briskly. His mother called after him, waning to comfort him, and knowing who Jacob was. Into the palace, up the stairs, and into his room, he ran, where he then let out a heart wrenching wail of grief. The king slid down the door and cupped his face within his hands and sobbed without delay. He could not comprehend that Jacob was dead. _His _Jacob…Gone?

Night fell, and Ambrose knocked on his door many times, but he was not allowed in. Edward sat on the bed, staring dejectedly at the wall, his eyes red-rimmed, and his throat sore. The window was wide open, and he whispered, "For I connect the out and the in, so I can see him. And regret I do feel, and my heart will not heal. How has this occurred? What makes this real? This must be true; must his crypt be sealed?"

Loss of life, no matter what the rank, class or race, is a crippling blow. Death awaits us all; blackness or eternal happiness? And as Jacob lays, stone cold, a being overlooks him, with another stone to hold.


	15. The Fourteenth Chapter

**Chapter Fourteen-Story**

Jacob lay lifelessly on the slab of rock where he was placed out of remembrance by the king. In a crypt, in the middle of a graveyard seventy-miles north of London, he lay. The only people who would to visit would be Edward and Oscar. But today, there was another.

Threshold stood over Jacob, illuminating the room in a golden-glow. Her eyes shone effulgently, and the Stone glimmered in her hands the same tinge of ruby that the corpse below her witnessed a month ago. She stroked his cold cheeks and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead before speaking to the Stone in a language that is unheard of by humans.

Instantly, a blue light spurted from the artefact, dancing all around the crypt, leaving behind it a trail of baby stars winking at the angel. The magical glow ended its dance with a swoop into Jacob's heart, and the room returned to the same sunny shine that vibrated from Threshold.

The guardian smiled demurely, leaving the Stone of Wishes on Jacob's chest, and left, sealing the crypt behind her.

:::

King Edward, still mourning over his "loss", was taking a bath in the royal pools. Lathering the soap into his brown curls, he tried to relax into the warm water, but couldn't. He, at first, blamed it on the death of Jacob, still burdening his mind. But it occurred to him that that wasn't the case; he felt as though something was watching him, something gnarly and not of this earth. He glanced around him in a tentative movement, meeting the view of nothing. Still, the eyes carried on with their invasive gaze…

When he got out, and dried off, he wore his most elegant attire for a ball that would take place in the great ballroom. He was looking forward to it; he had to get Jacob's bereavement off of his mind. The Sun was shining outside, the birds were tweeting and the atmosphere of the palace should be glorious; but, again, Edward didn't feel right. He couldn't reduce the sense of dread that followed him wherever he stood, or the growing instinct of anticipation.

"Is all fine, sir?" Ambrose enquired after he saw Edward's rapid eye movements.

"Huh?" He returned, barely noticing his existence.

"You just seem on edge. I assume it's the loss of your servant that troubles you."

Edward felt a twang of pain, "Yes, it's exactly that." He had to lie; he'd look insane, telling Ambrose that he felt he was being followed.

"Dear boy. I've lost many people in the past, and though you never truly get over them, you can live without them. You will soon be able to move on."

Ambrose smiled at his master, earning a disheartened one from the latter, and left the room, mumbling to himself about the duties that he was required to fulfil. When Ambrose closed the door, Edward stared with dismal eyes into nothingness, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He felt overwhelming regret at murdering his father; he despised being the king now.

A radiant sunset drew a crowd outside the palace; even Jane was there, feeling her sorrow edge away each day. Emma commented on the colours with such vivacity that a crowd seemed to congregate around her instead, drawn in by her admirable personality. Edward, however, was not present. He looked down at the crowd through a narrow crack in the curtains with disdain, and then closed them shut, blocking out all of the Sun's dying embers.

_Why has God granted me this existence? For what reason was I bestowed this hollowness?_

The Sun's setting painted the twilight, which painted the night, thus bringing in the revellers for the ball. Edward wanted to attend, as informed, but he sat on his chair with his face cupped in his hands, unable to move, the sense of being trapped engulfing him. He couldn't just run away; he was the king. He didn't want suicide; he wanted to live. He just didn't like his life at the moment. If Jacob was here, then all would be okay; he'd have someone to run away with, caring not whether he was the ruler or not. But Jacob was not here, and therefore, there was nothing left except a war that might destroy them and an arranged marriage.

A light tapping at the door brought Edward's gaze to the object, and he shocked himself when he actually spoke for the knocker to enter. It was Ambrose; Edward let out a quiet sigh.

"Your majesty, are you not coming to the ball? The party is beginning."

Edward listened intently and could hear the muffled orchestra and voices through the walls. He let out a second sigh, saying, "I might as well."

"Jolly good," Ambrose's amiable mood irritated Edward; why could he not be with his spirits? "Your aunt is telling a raunchy story to a table of ladies and gentlemen; I think you'd love to attend, would you not?"

"It's my life's goal, Ambrose, to listen to what she says right now."

The butler cast the king a sharp look, going unnoticed by him, and proceeded to say, in his happy tone, "And tomorrow I hear that there will be another royal party in Mayfair, and then there'll be a third in two weeks. You're very lucky to attend such gatherings, my lord."

Edward did not feel lucky, and the words that Ambrose told him, of the upcoming events, made his desire to flee become even more tangible.

When the duo entered the ballroom, the orchestra was playing a delightful, bouncy piece, reminding Edward of his eighteenth birthday party, and the bubbling laughter of everyone filled the atmosphere with smiles. However, Edward saw no joy tonight.

He was led to the table, earning many warm welcomes from the inhabitants, and was seated next to Emma. She gave her nephew an embrace, and told him of the story she was telling. "I'm just informing them of the time when your mother first met George, your father. I know that he's passed away, but I would like him to be remembered happily. Oh, dear, Georgiana," She shouted to a pretty passer by. "Come sit with us; I know you're not with anyone, so join in. I'm telling a remarkable tale."

"Hello, Emma," Said Georgiana, whose eyes were full of sanguinity. Edward smiled at her, and felt likability towards her. She was seated across from him, and their eyes met a few times. "Your majesty, it's an honour to be seated in your presence."

Edward forgot he was king for a moment, entranced by Georgiana's perky countenance. "Ah, well, it's a pleasure to be within the aura of such a charming lady."

Georgiana blushed, and hid her face behind a fan, letting out a girlish giggle.

"Let me begin with the story," Ordered Emma, and the seven pairs of eyes all fixed upon her intently. "So, Jane and George did not meet under the circumstances of an arranged marriage. Oh, no, they met under an entirely romantic phase of Fate. Our family, the Chiswicks, are of course from the green country of Derbyshire, thus why my brother takes residence in the grand manor of Chatsworth. So, one day, Jane and I, when we were, say, seventeen, as we're both twins, but not identical of course, went exploring on the moors. Now, Jane was always the explorer; I much favoured a good old gossip on the portico, but she persuaded me to have "some fun." We journeyed up onto the hills, and I must admit, the wind was extremely refreshing, though cold. Anyway, when we were walking back, a man on horseback came our way. Mine and Jane's curiosity was clearly piqued as to who he was as I called over to him. It's a wonder that he heard us, but still, he came towards. I found him extremely handsome, but his eyes were directed towards my sister. He was George. He said to us, "What are two lovely ladies like you doing on a petty plain like this?" We chuckled, and then we informed him, earning a rakish grin from him. "Would you like me to escort you home?" He enquired, but we refused, stating that we didn't even know who he was. And when he did tell us, we could barely believe him. Yet he unveiled a royal seal to us, on the windy moor, and our beliefs were cemented. We accepted his helpful offer, and straddled his white horse, though not in a way you'd hope," Everyone laughed at her innuendo. "On the way back home, he told us his age, eighteen, and we told him ours. He said that he was out hunting; he was stationed at the house of Tatton, in Cheshire," The orchestra finished a piece with a riveting flourish, and then returned to another quirky serenade. "When he dropped us off at Chatsworth's gate, he bid us a fond farewell, and rode away merrily. Little did we know that we'd be seeing from him again the next day, and the day after that. In time, it was just he and Jane who rode away onto the moor, and soon enough, he proposed. Oh, what a grand moment that was. I guess I've told you their story; I don't think you'd want me to go into another," Emma laughed, along with the rest, who praised her as a raconteur.

Edward, on the other hand, fought the tears brewing up inside him; hearing this piece of history to his father, the man he killed, slayed his heart effortlessly. He dabbed a handkerchief to his eye, praying that no one would notice, but someone did. Georgiana. "My lord, are you all right?" Her face was concerned, and her voice was full of hospitality.

Edward couldn't help but smile at her, saying, "Yes, it's just I never knew my father was so…"He couldn't find a word, and laughed at himself. Georgiana, startling the king, grasped his hand reassuringly, telling him that he'd be looking down from heaven with pride at his son.

"He definitely would," Piped in Emma, giving her nephew's cheek a gentle stroke. "You're a brilliant leader, Edward, I know you are."

Though the fact of Jacob's death still pained him, he felt some warmth at that table, with Emma and Georgiana keeping him company, and keeping his mood afloat.

:::

At the icy crypt, meanwhile, something stirred within. Jacob's fingers began to twitch, his chest began to rise and fall, his heart began to beat, and suddenly, his eyes flashed open.

**I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. **


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